


Feels Like I've Never Seen the Sky Before

by kaboomslang



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Awkward Baze, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, PDA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:04:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9238154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaboomslang/pseuds/kaboomslang
Summary: Baze would really, really like to hold Chirrut's hand, please. He works up the courage.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, after 10 years in fandom, my love for these two has spawned my first ever fic. Started as a hand holding drabble that evolved. Huge thanks to [GreyMichaela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela) for being my last minute beta!

They’re seventeen years old, standing in line at the temple waiting for the evening meal and the sun is setting to the usual backdrop of night insects and the constant hum of chanting. Baze thinks he’s never been more nervous in his entire life, and goddamn Chirrut for always pushing him to experience new things, some of them without Chirrut even realising the tectonic effect he has on Baze’s life.

So Baze is shifting from foot to foot, coming dangerously close to losing balance the closer he gets to Chirrut’s orbit. His fingers spasm a beat against his thigh and he swipes a wrist over his clammy forehead. He’s shooting Chirrut glance after glance and every time he looks, Chirrut’s contented expression is expanding further towards a full blown smirk.

His low voice startles Baze. “Whatever it is you want to say, would you just get on with it? You’re fretting so thunderously my ears will soon be useless too.”

Every muscle in Baze’s upper body seizes and a second later, unlocks with a shudder. Tries to clear his throat, tries again, “I- um. Alright.” He creaks his head around on a stiff neck to check their surroundings; gods, why oh WHY did he decide to finally do this here, now, with witnesses? It’s just that he’s replayed this scenario in his head so many times, if he doesn’t go through with it he genuinely fears the potential energy will dissipate, change to kinetic or light or sound and he’ll be robbed of the opportunity forever.

He gulps down air as quietly as he can, hoping to quell the snakes rioting in his belly, and turns to Chirrut fully, no more glancing and waiting and- well. Still hoping. Always hoping, since roughly his third month of knowing Chirrut Îmwe, he’s never been quite able to starve the knot of hope in his heart.

For the first and last time in Baze’s life, he’s vaguely thankful Chirrut can’t see the expression on his face, and takes the leap. He wipes his hand on his robe one last time and completes its trembling journey in Chirrut’s own.

The thing is, it isn’t as if they’ve never touched. Chirrut is tactile by necessity and Baze by shameful greed, he’s coveted every held hand and gripped shoulder, relished their grappling in the sparring arena, but this right  _ here _ is about intent. Baze never realised quite how insignificant sight was in the process of knowing a person, before he met Chirrut. The boy seems to read intent in every step and vibration, every tiny intonation, which is why Baze is 100% sure Chirrut knows what Baze is doing here. He rubs his thumb over the bone of Chirrut’s wrist and Chirrut — Chirrut  _ gasps. _

Baze’s head jerks upwards from where he’s been staring at their hands and sees Chirrut, unflappable Chirrut who knows his opponents’ moves before they make them, gaping like a fish. His frosted eyes are near plasma in comparison to the deep flushed band across his cheekbones. He’s blushing to the roots of his hair and the sight is almost obscene in its loveliness. Baze lets the hope in his chest catch and ignite into astonishment, quickly burning up into delight.

“You,” Chirrut stammers, “I didn’t — think you would — finally — ”

Baze doesn’t know what to do with his free hand and so grips his robes until his knuckles whiten. “I didn’t know if you would, ah... want — ”

“Want,” Chirrut breathes, “I do want,” and lunges.

For a boy without sight Chirrut has remarkable aim, and kisses Baze hard enough to knock him back a step, their clasped hands coming loose to grasp whatever’s within reach, robes, hair, Baze’s poor abused ears. Baze has never wanted to do this with anyone before Chirrut, and so has no idea what to do next beyond pulling him closer and tilting, so their noses aren’t pressed together as tightly. They stagger, and separate long enough for Chirrut to throw his head back in one pure, triumphant shout of laughter before he dives back in, mouth open against Baze’s in one of his ridiculous gum-showing smiles. Baze has wondered what this would be like for  _ so long,  _ has daydreamed in the shade and awoken from real dreams in a sweat, but nothing can compare to the real armful of Chirrut who is — practically climbing him now, and Force alive he did it, he really  _ did it _ , he has Chirrut and he can’t bring himself to close his eyes and miss the sight of Chirrut so fucking happy because of  _ him,  _ and —

Throats clearing. Multiple throats clearing, and when Baze can finally haul himself back up to the shore of his personal thrumming lake of arousal, he notes the general lack of ambient conversation around them. Chirrut licks at Baze’s upper lip one last time and gods, he knows exactly what's happening, the ass, but Chirrut has never had the same problems with, ah, expressing himself that Baze has.

“If you both are quite finished,” it’s Senior Abbot Vulo, and if Baze could care about anything other than Chirrut’s slick mouth, or the feel of their thighs pressed so closely together he can feel Chirrut shaking, he might be even a little concerned, “Your display is holding up the line. Work this out on your own time boys, not when there are meals to be eaten.”

Chirrut snatches Baze’s hand from where it’s flexing against the taut line of Chirrut’s own waist and whirls round to pick up his staff.  _ He must have dropped it _ , Baze thinks absently as Chirrut marches them away to their end of the barracks,  _ he must have dropped it when I _ _ — _ _ when we _ _ — _

“I’m not hungry anyway,” Chirrut says, and looks back over his shoulder at Baze, pale eyes glinting, putting the kyber itself to shame, and his wide silly grin nearly has Baze buckling, “not for food.”

Baze stumbles and coughs, his voice breaking in a way it hasn’t since he first met Chirrut, “I — if you want — shut up,” this last is more to himself, he doesn’t want to make any more of a fool of himself than he already has, but Chirrut just laughs.

“That’s hardly any way to speak to someone who’s been in love with you for five years, you great dolt,” but his voice is breathy, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening and moons, can Baze sympathise.

Baze snaps out of it then, his eyes darting guiltily away from Chirrut’s mouth, then feeling abruptly foolish for it. Apparently kissing Chirrut, letting each other past that final barrier, it’s driven home the reality that Chirrut may be blind, but there’s no part of Baze he cannot see nor reach. The way he’s looking at Baze now, crowding against him with his face turned upwards, grin splitting his face in half, well. His eyes might as well be the dark brown Baze remembers from years ago, for all that he can hide from them.

“Five years? Five — why didn’t you say something?” He’s not annoyed, more incredulous than anything else. They could have been doing things like  _ that  _ for ages. He dimly registers that Chirrut has backed them to the wall of a shaded cloister, and the soft lamplight is casting shadows down Chirrut’s jawline that, with a new frisson of heat up his spine, Baze realises he can touch, appreciate,  _ want  _ openly, and Chirrut will let him.

Chirrut nuzzles against the large palm cupping his cheek and breathes damp across Baze’s wrist, “I knew the Force would bring you to me in time — no, wait,” and he knows, he always knows what Baze is doing and thinking before Baze has time to even recoil from that jab of hurt himself, “you know that’s not what I meant. We both know that’s not how the Force works.”

Baze has never claimed to know even a quarter of the Force’s whims that Chirrut seems to, but he lets him continue. “Oh Baze. Strong, clever Baze, I know the Force didn’t make me love you artificially, against my will. That’s not — ” here he blows air upwards, ruffling his little cowlicks, and strokes the back of Baze’s hand still cupping his face. His voice takes on an admonishing tone, but there’s no bite to it, “don’t be an idiot.”

“You’re making it difficult,” Baze mutters, and Chirrut reaches up to tangle his fingers through Baze’s hair, holds him steady when he feels like shaking apart.

“The Force only opened my eyes — be quiet — to what I was feeling. It lights a path inside me, you see,” and he’s so close now, speaking hushed against Baze’s mouth, “and the path has always led me straight to you.” 

They’re kissing again, frantic, but later, after, Baze will think: if this is where they’ve ended up, he will follow Chirrut down any path the Force lights for them, in this life and any others there may be.


End file.
